Smitten With Sense: A Modern Sense And Sensibility Retelling (Pemberley Estates Book 4)

by Keena Richins

  Once the limo dropped him off, he told the driver he no longer needed his services. He'd rent his own car. It was one of the rare chances he had to have some sort of independence. Despite his mother's constant spying on his phone, she never seemed to care about his location and if he happened to take a drive to another state for a day, she never said a word about it. Perhaps she hoped he was off doing important things like making deals that would ensure his success as a CEO. She'd be so disappointed to discover he simply enjoyed long drives, especially as he meandered through the suburbs, watching the middle class go about their lives and wishing he had been born amongst them instead.

  Hotels were also another treasured setting. Here, he could feel normal with no major expectations riding on his shoulders. He could sit in the foyer without being noticed, eat alone in the restaurant without being judged, and retreat to his hotel room without constantly feeling like a failure.

  He woke up early, a habit instilled by his father. After getting himself ready, he pulled out his laptop and the papers and worked on the accounts that were supposedly now under Robert. He doubted his brother would work on them anyway. Tedious attention to small details was never his strong point. Robert preferred being in the front and taking all the glory. Sometimes, Edward wished Robert were the older son. He certainly wouldn't mind being forced into the CEO position, having to go to endless meetings and networking to make deals to further the success of the empire.

  Secretly, Edward hoped his mother would finally give up on him and transfer her aspirations to Robert. Actually, Edward planned on giving the CEO job to his brother once his mother relinquished the controls to Edward. Then Edward could drift into the background and work on the numbers, maybe even quit the corporate world entirely and open a small mom-and-pop business. Well, not really since that would technically mean he was married and Edward couldn't fathom a girl that would want such a simple life, not when she could sink her claws into the vast wealth of his family.

  He'd already made the mistake of thinking one girl could love him without his wealth—and that had turned into a never-ending nightmare.

  The alarm on his phone went off, signaling for him to gather his things and head to the businesses Fanny wanted him to liquefy. Her father-in-law, like Edward's own mother, had acquired multiple businesses besides his main one, but unlike his mother, the man seemed intent on making them grow instead of buying them out, sucking them dry of money, and then spitting them back out as a new creation. The first on the list was a company called Norland, situated in the business side of New York City, and run by a Ms. Dashwood. That was likely Fanny's mother-in-law, and if Fanny's version was correct, she was a lady who only knew how to run a business into the ground. He certainly would have his work cut out for him if that were true.

  Not wanting to battle the traffic, he took the subway, an act that would appall his entire family. Luckily, no one was around to witness the future CEO mingling with the commoners and Edward thoroughly enjoyed it, watching everyone as they all stared at their phones, probably all wishing they could live the life that he would gladly give away.

  An hour later and he was at Norland, a small three-story building that may have had grander days a century ago but no longer. As he headed for the main desk, a sense of dread built within him. The place was sparsely decorated—open spaces favored—and immaculately clean. There wasn't a lot of white, but it still reminded him of his mother. The mysterious Ms. Dashwood morphed into a similar grumpy lady, probably employing the same beauty-saving tactics of his mother, determined to stay relevant in a world that no longer cared.

  Edward hoped no one would be in the main area, allowing him to sneak by. He had never liked talking to total strangers. Unfortunately, behind the main desk sat an elderly man who immediately beamed when he caught sight of Edward. The smile made Edward think the man seemed better suited on a park bench somewhere, handing candy to youngsters and laughing with a brood of grandchildren.

  Hoping the man would be friendly, Edward approached him. "Hello, I'm Edward Ferrars. I'm here to perform an audit." He'd learned early in his career that any mention of liquidation tended to make employees hostile, but an audit seemed to produce more of a cautious attitude instead.

  As if on cue, the man's grandfatherly smile turned into a wary one. "Uh, of course, but, uh, Ms. Dashwood, she's not in yet—"

  "That's fine." The less he had to see of the grumpy lady, the better. "Just tell me where the office is and I can get to work."

  Technically, he was supposed to wait for the owner, but luck was on Edward's side since the man didn't argue, but pointed a gnarled hand to the hallway on his right. Edward nodded and headed in that direction. If Ms. Dashwood was like other vain, important people, she'd have the corner office, with large windows to let her sneer at the unfortunate commoners below her. Since the reception was already in one corner, her office must be at the other end of the building.

  He sped along the hallway only to discover the so-called corner office was actually a large room filled with people quietly working. He immediately retraced his steps and eyed the closed doors along the long hallway, wishing name tags had been placed on the doors. Now he had to guess which door leads to an overly white office.

  His first two guesses led to closets filled with supplies, but on his third try, he discovered a clean and sparsely decorated office without anyone in it. Hoping he'd found the formidable Ms. Dashwood's office, he slipped inside. To his relief, a pile of letters sat on the desk, all addressed to her. He also couldn't help noting the letters were alphabetized by the sender, the pile in the 'in' box was significantly less than the 'out' box, and the books lining the shelves were organized by date and size.

  This was definitely not a woman who would fit Fanny's description of running a business into the ground. These habits would better fit his mother, but there seemed to be a softer touch in the room. Perhaps it was the flowering plant stationed beside the computer, or the row of picture frames showcasing smiling faces, or the touch of cheery red artfully woven throughout the room. Actually, if he could cover the white walls, the office would be an almost perfect rendition of how he'd want his own office. There wasn't even a window to distract him.

  Edward held still for a moment, aware he was falling in love with a room. But the image of an irritable Ms. Dashwood, with beady eyes and a sneer, shattered his new-found love. Her office might be everything he wanted, but she would be the opposite. And besides, she'd be at least twenty years older and already had a husband. Not that he was thinking about such possibilities in the first place. Lucy would destroy anyone he dared to romance anyway.

  Needing a distraction, he flipped through the books and let the orchestra of numbers sing in his head. Except it only confirmed his new love. No major parts were missing. Not even the little ones. All of them blended together into a beautiful orchestra of profit and upward mobility.

  A near-perfect office and now a practically perfect business. It was like he had found the life he'd always wanted—and he was here to destroy it.

  Edward straightened his shoulders and grabbed the last three years' worth of books. Fanny may have her heart set on money, but if he could convince her she'd make more if the business survived, then maybe he could keep this Norland alive long enough to possibly acquire it for himself.

  Assuming he'd ever get the courage to confess such a notion to his mother.

  Pushing that problem aside, he tucked the books under his arm, and headed into the hallway, his long legs reaching the corner in seconds. But as he rounded it, so did someone else, a shorter someone who obviously wasn't as heavy as he was since the person bounced back like a light ball. He immediately grabbed the shoulders to prevent the unfortunate person from tumbling to the ground.

  "Sorry about that," he muttered as he took a step back to take in the newcomer. A very feminine face blinked up at him, framed with straight, black hair. Pretty, was the first word that came to his mind. He immediately tensed. His dealings with L
ucy taught him how easily a pretty face could hide a corroded inside.

  Still, he had been raised to be polite, so he tried to look concerned. "You all right?"

  "Sorry," the girl began, "I was in a hurry—" She abruptly stopped as if she had spotted a speck of dust on his suit. Considering her own blouse and skirt were as impeccable as his mother's, it could be a major offense to her. A second later, she straightened her shoulders and leveled a glare at him as though his very presence offended her, just like she was a younger version of his grumpy mother.

  "You're the one from the IRS?"

  Okay, that was not a question his mother would ask. "No, not at all."

  Her glare didn't lessen and Edward took a step back, wishing he had never met the lady.

  "I'm an auditor here at the request of my sister, Fanny Dashwood." He hoped the name would provide some sort of a shield. "According to the secretary, I believe I'm supposed to be working with a Ms. Dashwood. If you tell me where I could locate her, I'll get out of your way." Hopefully, she wasn't around at all and he could escape the building instead.

  The glare morphed into a stunned stare. "You're Edward?"

  Again, a statement he wasn't prepared for. She may be as grouchy as his mother, but she certainly thought differently. Hoping to establish some ground he could understand, he answered, "I see you know of me, but may I ask who you are?"

  She extended a hand toward him like an offer of truce, but her rigid stance didn't change. "I'm the one who runs this business."

  "You are?" So much for reaching ground he could understand. This woman was at least twenty years younger than the age Fanny had claimed her mother-in-law should be. "But, I was told a Ms. Dashwood—"

  "Oh, that's me." Her offered handshake wilted along with her stance. "It's a, uh, running joke around here." She swept back her hair with her hand, her eyes averting to the white walls surrounding them. "My father used to bring me when I was younger and I disliked being treated like a little girl, so he insisted everyone had to call me Ms. Dashwood. And, well, everyone's been calling me that ever since."

  Edward didn't know what to do. The story was cute. Adorable, even. Just as adorable as her embarrassed face that she tried to hide by ducking her head, causing her hair to cascade in front of her face. He wanted to believe her—to see her as a sweet girl who adored her father—but the story also sounded like something another certain pretty girl would tell. A story that would endear him to her—and thus trap him into trusting her. A mistake he never wanted to repeat.

  "I see." He took a step back as if that extra distance might help him stay logical. He didn't need more complications in his life. Numbers were easier and more trustworthy. "I had some questions about the books if you don't mind—"

  "Yes, of course." Her stance turned rigid again. "I'm afraid I wasn't quite expecting you, so I apologize if the books are a bit out of order."

  Out of order? Edward may struggle understanding women, but he certainly understood numbers. "On the contrary." He opened one of the books. "They're in excellent order, with impressive detail. You even have footnotes. It's amazing." The last part slipped out of him before he could stop it.

  He froze, fully expecting her to twist his admiration to her advantage. That's how everyone he knew worked. They only wanted what was best for themselves, never caring about those trodden in the process.

  However, she just blinked at him as if he had spoken in a different language.

  Perhaps this Ms. Dashwood didn't work as most people do? That might explain her beautiful books of numbers. And that perfect office.

  No, he shouldn't think about the office. Because he might transfer his newfound love to the owner.

  Needing another distraction, he decided to revert to business. "An apology is in order. My sister led me to believe this business was on the verge of tumbling to its death, but one look at these books and I can see that this isn't the case."

  And there went another compliment tumbling out of his mouth. It was like she had triggered some automatic reverence in him. That office of hers must have bewitched him. And now she would use it against him. Or at least beam and gloat, her pride puffed up by the attention.

  But the girl did neither, just stared at him as if unable to comprehend that someone would find anything about her satisfactory. "It, uh, might not be as rosy as the books say."

  A grin stole over his face. He couldn't help it. She was humble and modest—delightfully different than anyone he knew. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Ms. Dashwood." He wished he knew her first name, but Fanny had never bothered to reveal those details. "I've worked on many businesses and this one rates near the top, which is surprising given your age," he added. She probably was barely twenty—a sign of her great intelligence, no doubt.

  Except she might take that as an insult—it would fit the wreck of his life to offend the person he admired. "Uh, businesses this good tend to have much older people in charge." The second the sentence left his mouth, he regretted saying it. That was an even worse response. Now she would think he was criticizing her age instead of praising it. He really should stick to numbers instead of people.

  Confirming his dread, a rather stiff smile crept onto her face. "Thank you, but to be honest, I had a lot of help from my father."

  He cocked his head in surprise. Normally, insulted people responded with insults of their own. Or simply glared as if their cold eyes could shrivel his soul. But she had responded with grace and humility. This girl was too perfect.

  Even if it meant risking insulting her, he didn't want her continuing on in life without understanding how rare she was. "That could be true, but I've seen many have such help and yet still fail once on their own. You have a gift, Ms. Dashwood. You should own it."

  Her eyes widened, then she immediately ducked her head, causing her hair to once again fall around her face. He wanted to push away the hair and bring that pretty face back into his view—

  He froze at the thought. He'd already fallen for her, hadn't he? Well, it wasn't much of a surprise considering how perfect she was. Not to mention that dream office. But he couldn't do anything about it—didn't dare do anything about it. This paragon of a girl would only be destroyed by the people in his life.

  Chapter 3

  "Would you like a tour?" the girl asked, diverting Edward's thought process to another dilemma. Tours meant introductions to random people, something he wasn't especially fond of. He glanced down both hallways as he tried to come up with an adequate excuse. But then, according to the books, there weren't a lot of employees. Neither was the business very large. It could be a painless tour.

  And, a little voice piped up, he could get to know this paragon of a lady some more.

  Smothering the voice, he smiled. "Thank you, I think I would enjoy that."

  Ms. Dashwood immediately set off as if nervous about something. Or perhaps she didn't enjoy Edward's company as much as he did hers. Half of him was okay with that—he didn't want her getting close to him—but an annoying side of him was definitely not okay with it.

  Deciding on a truce, he asked an innocent question to fill the silence. "How long have you worked here?"

  She arched an eyebrow at him. "Worked or been in charge?"

  That wasn't the response he had expected. "You used to be a programmer?"

  A soft smile rested on her lips, almost as if she were amused. "Not everyone is a programmer here."

  Had he insulted her? The smile seemed to imply she wasn't mad, but he'd learned through his family that smiling wasn't a reliable factor. He should apologize, just in case.

  "I had assumed since most transactions occur over the Internet—"

  "We are based on the Internet, but just making a web page to sell a drawing program won't cut it. We need social media experts, website designers, graphic designers, and..." she grinned up at him, a gleam in her eye, "even a janitor."

  She was teasing him. The last person to tease him had been his father. It had been so long a
go that he wasn't sure how to respond, but he managed a grin. "Please tell me you were not the janitor."

  She laughed, the sound filling the empty hallway like dancing angels. He couldn't believe it. No one ever laughed at anything he said. He wasn't funny enough, not like his brother who could get any crowd to laugh.

  Wishing she'd laugh again, he frantically tried to come up with something else, but she ruined the moment by stopping at an open doorway. "Here we are."

  All thoughts of her drowned as Edward stared at the big room filled with strangers. The room was divided, with one half filled with safe cubicles where someone could hide and focus on work, while the other side was open, the tables pushed against each other to enforce dreaded socialization.

  He was glad Ms. Dashwood stepped into the room first instead of insisting that he do so, since all eyes snapped to her. The atmosphere seemed thick, as if something bad were about to happen. When their eyes flicked to him, he had the unmistakable impression that he was the bad thing they believed was about to happen. Normally, he wouldn't be surprised—he often arrived when a business was about to go under—but this business was thriving and no one should have been worried about losing their jobs.

  Then again, Fanny had insisted he come to liquefy it. It was highly possible she had announced such intentions to the employees, assuming she had bothered to come here in the first place.

  He kept a polite smile while Ms. Dashwood did the introductions, hoping to not antagonize anyone. In some of the businesses he had been forced to close, fights had erupted—an incident he didn't ever want to repeat. But Ms. Dashwood swept through the room like a soothing angel, calling everyone by their first name and adding a sweet anecdote about each. His mother could never have done that. His father would have known the names but would have failed to know each one so personally. Ms. Dashwood was like a mother hen who lovingly tended to her chicks. And the loyalty shone in their eyes. He got the impression that they'd go after him with pitchforks if he dared to hurt their precious mother hen.